I do not like the Trumps.
Donald, Eric, Junior, too,
Ivanka, Jared, that whole crew.
Melania, and Trumps by marriage,
all but Barron, I disparage.
Trumps! I do not like those Trumps.
But would you spit upon a Trump?
Would you spit inside a bar?
Would you spit inside a car?
Would you spit on Trumps at play?
While they’re eating crème brulee?
While they grope Miss USA?
I could, I would, inside a bar. I would, I could, inside a car.
I would spit on Trumps at play, shooting with the NRA.
I would spit at bowling alleys. I would spit at red-meat rallies.
Golfing, shopping, like they do.
I could spit on them. Could you?
Would you? Could you? With (a) Fox?
Especially while watching Fox
or any witless Trumpland spox.
Anywhere that Trumpers be, I will spray them. You will see.
And, Oh! The places they go!
meeting with some heads-of-state.
I’d spray spittle here or there.
I would spit most anywhere.
Say! This spitting?
It’s a crime!
You wouldn’t, couldn’t, do some time?
They will say you make them nervous.
They will call the Secret Service.
Civility! Must not be rude.
Mustn’t spit in people’s food.
Meanwhile, kids are kept in cages,
rise in hate crimes,
Yet you say I’m being rude?
how to spell c-o-l-l-u-d-e?
I would spit for damaged reefs,
for every unexplained covfefe.
For bone spurs, and that killed newsman,
windmill cancer, travel ban.
I’d spit upon a Trump, would you?
For every KKK applaud.
For every river, stream, polluted.
For every coffer they have looted.
For every woman smeared and hooted.
For every Lie! Lie! Lie! Lie! Lie!
For “very fine people, on both sides.”
I’d spit upon a Trump. Would you?
I could! I would!
I’d spit for every duty shirked,
I’d spit for every porn star twerked.
I’d spit for every court seat nabbed,
I’d spit for every pussy grabbed.
when Congress moves too slow.
So…both sides now, let’s start this show.
Could you, would you, say impeach?
I could! I would!
But until then,
I make my calls, I grab my pen.
Before I finish, if I may…
I hope you hear those children cry.
I hope your bank accounts run dry.
I hope you don some orange jumpsuits,
grifting over, mansions moot.
I HOPE YOU NEVER DINE IN PEACE.
MAY ALL YOUR FOOD BE SPITTLE-GREASED.
Whose talk of war is so carefree.
“I don’t know, I mean, we’ll see!”
Would you, could you,
let them be?
No! I, you, we, me, could not, would not, let them be.
So…spew it! Let that spittle fly!
Hock a loogie in the sky!
Trumps! I do not like them here or there.
I do not like them anywhere.